


Loving Isn't Past-Tense

by mothdotjpeg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, I'm Sorry, M/M, Rewrite, The Empty (Supernatural), aka what would happen if the Empty left Cas's body behind, bodily horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothdotjpeg/pseuds/mothdotjpeg
Summary: What would happen if the Empty didn't take Castiel's vessel?|| “I don't have him.” It hurt to say. He needed to have him. But he didn't have him. He wouldn't ever have him.“But you had him.” Dean laughed and kept his gaze away from Sam. He pressed further. “Maybe not the way either of you craved, but you had him. And he had you.” Dean nodded, he was right. He had the handprint, the prayers, the phone calls, and diner dates. The impala rides and the hunts. The long nights and the reunions.“I had my hand in his chest, I could feel his empty lungs. Sam, I can't…” He blinked the tears onto his cheeks and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can't recover from that. That's my last memory of him. Of blood, and him saying goodbye, and the Empty. That's not fair.”“He said he loved you, Dean.” He did. He said it. ||
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Loving Isn't Past-Tense

**Author's Note:**

> I'm literally on season 1 of SPN so I have 0 clues about how the Empty works, I apologize. This came to me in a nightmare, there is no happy ending. I am sorry. 
> 
> TW for blood, gore, and graphic death.

“Goodbye, Dean.” It rattled against the walls like a million thoughtless prayers. Ringing, just ringing. The sounds of the Empty, of Castiel’s heaving chest, they were gone. Just the words, just those two words. In one ear, out the next, grabbed ahold of in desperation as Dean tried to process what the fuck was happening. But he wasn’t allowed the space, before Castiel reached out, and shoved him away. The wall hit his back, his worn-out aching body gave into the crash and the fall, this might as well happen. It was hopeless, this all felt hopeless. 

“Cas,” He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. There was nothing more he wanted than to reach out, to claw his way off the ground and around Castiel’s body. Maybe the Empty would take them both if they were intertwined. He wanted them to be intertwined. 

The Empty was black. Like tar. Like endless nights and nightmares, this was a nightmare. As it reached out towards the angel, his angel. Nothing could wake him up, as he watched Castiel close his eyes and smile. How the hell was this a moment of happiness? Dean hadn't had the chance- the chance to what? Kiss the tears off his face or hell, tell him he loved him too? He couldn't even think of what he’d do because it was black. Crashing into the trench coat covered body, the one Dean longed to comfort. But it didn't cover his body, Dean couldn't help but pray it would go quickly. That this would be over, that he could get up and find someplace for comfort. A bed or a beer or Sam, or… He didn't know. But it didn't cover his body. Just seeped through his skin, made the veins pump, and then it drained out through the floor. Until Castiel’s skin was pure white, and his body gave out and fell with a crashing thud. 

“What the h-” Dean felt his body jerk into action as he crawled across the floor to find the broken body. It was bloody as if all the blood vessels burst. Bruised skin, skin still warm. “Cas,” he scooped the body into his arms, bringing his hand to comb through Castiel’s hair. He wasn't moving, not even breathing. Dean couldn't look away from his face, eyes closed and soft smile unmoving. His hand fell to Castiel’s chest, moving to stroke comfortingly but… red. And sticky. Blood. So much. Dean looked down, chest feeling tight, hands shaking. Why couldn't he pull his shit together and fix Castiel? His Castiel. 

Breathe. Just breathe. Focus. Look down, at the place the Empty had entered. The broken missing skin, the rotting muscle, and brown colored blood that still felt wet. Nausea ripped rampant as his eyes processed the broken rib, the white bone that seemed too clean compared to the mauled and bleeding mess. 

“Cas, fuck man. I can't fix you, please just. Cas,” He was on the verge of sobbing, seeing the dried tears on Castiel's face. There was nothing he wanted more than Castiel's face in his hands and his eyes looking into his. 

“Please, you dumbass, I’m in love with you. Idiot, how the hell did you not know?” He was babbling as he closed his eyes and shoved his hand into the hole in Castiel’s chest, pressing his rib back down and into his body. It was weirdly cold, weirdly not weird. He wouldn't let go. If only he was an angel if only he could heal Castiel like Castiel had healed him before. He’d give all the grace in the world just to fix his angel. If he wasn't crying before, he was now. Watching his tears hit Castiel’s pale face. His hand that wasn't occupied inside Castiel’s chest was cradling his head, feeling his hair in between his fingers. It was so soft, so real, so Cas. This was real. Dean sobbed harder, leaning down till his forehead was against Castiel’s. He sobbed until he couldn't open his eyes and his body was falling over, clinging to the lifeless body. He laid there, for what felt like years, the blood covering his hand as he grasped to the ribs. As if maybe if he held on long enough, that Castiel would bring his head closer than just a forehead touch. As if they would lay there laughing and crying forever as if it was only a matter of time before his hands could start healing. 

“Dean?” It was like the light at the end of the tunnel raced him to the middle and met him too soon, his whole body hurt at the sound of Sam’s voice. “What the fuck happened?” Sam’s gun dropped and he sank to the floor next to the half laying down, blood-covered wreck on the floor. 

“The Empty, it…” Dean looked at the ceiling to stop the tears, it didn't help. 

“It took Cas?” A sob shook through Dean as he watched Sam’s face look from Dean to Castiel’s lifeless body. “Dean?” His voice wavered, unsure. Why did Dean have to tell him? He couldn't say it…

“He said goodbye.” Was all he got out before he squeezed his eyes closed and hugged Castiel’s body closer to his. Sam was silent, watching, his face passing with the grief before settling on emotionless, eyes watching Dean. 

“Dean, we have to go.” He was being the older brother now, he was the one trying to protect. It made Dean’s graceless hands feel even more powerless and he held his breath as if he would just burst and cease to exist. 

“But he, Cas. We can't, we can't just leave him.” His grip didn't loosen, curling in on himself. Every ounce of him was bloody and aching and the hand mark on his jacket burned his soul. “Why, the Empty was taking him? Why is he still here?” He didn't think before speaking, his gaze was so pleading as Sam squatted in front of their bodies. 

“Dean,” His voice was so gentle, walking on eggshells as he watched his heartbroken brother get hit with wave after wave of grief. “That isn’t Cas. They left his vessel.” Dean’s whole body shook and looked away, not daring to meet Sam’s empathetic gaze or Castiel’s empty body. “That's Jimmy Novak, you can let go.” Dean shook his head. “Dean, we have to go.” 

“Sam!” His brother paused and looked Dean straight in the eyes, being so patient with the bleeding wreck he would die for. “He said he loved me.” Castiel loved him. Knew him better than anyone had or anyone ever would. And now he was dead. lying in his arms. He couldn't let go.

“You love him too, right?” Dean’s eyes didn't get a break as another wave of pain hit him. He just nodded and looked down at the man his hands were holding and inside of, the man whose blood was his clothing now. “Then you need to stand up and walk away.” 

He removed his hand. Sam helped him up. They left. They went to the bunker. Dean didn't wash his hand. He let Sam drive. He sat on the couch. Let a beer get warm. He fell asleep at some point in the night. Woke up to a dry crusty hand, and Sam watching him from a chair. 

“Wash your hand.” Sam said, he didn't ask. Dean could barely move to the sink. When he got there he stayed for fifteen minutes, scrubbing. It didn't seem like enough. Sam watched him from a chair. 

“If you scrub anymore you’ll remove your skin.” Dean wanted to snap, to tell Sam he’d rather be dead next to Castiel right now. But he didn't. He dried his hand and laid back down on the couch. 

“How long was I asleep?” He croaked. His voice was gone, either from crying or dehydration. Probably both. 

“Better part of two days, I didn't want to bother you.” Dean noticed his shoes had been taken off, a blanket had been thrown onto the arm of the couch.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Dean didn't meet Sam’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” Castiel wasn't just his. He was everyones. Sam gulped and leaned back.

“No.” Dean met his eyes but Sam just smiled sadly. “But I'll survive. I don't know if you will.” He didn't know if he’d survive either. It was silent for a while before Sam spoke again. “This is it, Dean.” Dean didn't need him to be specific, he understood. He nodded emptily, trying not to think.

“I know.” He really needed water. Sam noticed and moved to get up, go to the kitchen. Dean watched as he did, unsure what to say. “He said happiness wasn't in the having.” Sam hummed as he retrieved a glass from a cabinet. He waited till Sam returned with the water to continue, taking a sip before his empty stomach grumbled. He wasn't hungry. Not with the thought of ribs in his hands. Sam nodded at him to continue as he sat down, Dean breathed shakily. “He said it was in the being.” Sam smiled and looked at his hands, Dean envied the simplicity of being. “I loved him, Sammy.” Don't cry, not more. Not again. Drink the water, breathe. This didn't have to be fucking hard. 

“I know.” Dean groaned and stared at the wall for a minute, everyone knew. And it took to his death for the angel to say shit. He wasn't innocent either. God, did he hold the guilt. 

“I don't have him.” It hurt to say. He needed to have him. But he didn't have him. He wouldn't ever have him.

“But you had him.” Dean laughed and kept his gaze away from Sam. He pressed further. “Maybe not the way either of you craved, but you had him. And he had you.” Dean nodded, he was right. He had the handprint, the prayers, the phone calls, and diner dates. The impala rides and the hunts. The long nights and the reunions. 

“I had my hand in his chest, I could feel his empty lungs. Sam, I can't…” He blinked the tears onto his cheeks and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can't recover from that. That's my last memory of him. Of blood, and him saying goodbye, and the Empty. That's not fair.” 

“He said he loved you, Dean.” He did. He said it. While crying, while dying. But he said it, knowing Dean would've said it back in a heartbeat. Even if the angel wouldn't have admitted it. Castiel knew he was Dean’s angel.

“I loved him, Sam.” Dean met his brother's gaze. 

“You _love_ him, Dean. You _love_ him.” 


End file.
